


Acting Lessons

by Bright_Days (Mirradin)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/pseuds/Bright_Days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turkey would like to try BDSM. Australia thinks this is a great idea, except for the part where he can't feel pain. Acting lessons may not be the best solution, but hey, it works for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acting Lessons

"You know, it'll be a year next week," Turkey said idly, breathing out a ribbon of smoke.  
  
"Yeah?" Australia asked, wrinkling his nose at the smell. "You want to do anything? We could go out to the coast, I'd show you how to wrestle crocs."  
  
"I was thinking something more ... special," Turkey said, his voice dropping into that low purr that never failed to make Australia take notice.  
  
"Yeah?" Australia said, trying to conceal the way his breathing had sped up. "Like what?"  
  
Suddenly Turkey was leaning over him, pressing his shoulders down into the cushions of the sofa, laying his whole weight on Australia's body. "I was thinkin' I could tie you up," he growled into Australia's ear, his tongue barely flicking the lobe. "Beat you." His body was heavy and Australia arched up eagerly into the warm weight as Turkey's breath ghosted over his neck. "Make you scream." A nip to the jaw, and Australia could fell the callouses on Turkey's thumb where it rubbed his bare collarbone -- if his lover didn't _do something_ he'd get his screaming free of charge. Turkey leaned over and purred into Australia's ear, so that the prone nation could feel the rumble of the words through his jaw. "Show you just how good _pain_ can feel."  
  
Um.  
  
Oh, bugger.  
  
*  
  
There was a minor problem with ... well ... everything about Australia.  
  
Start with being settled by convicts. Convicts are not, as a rule, people who are terribly frightened by pain, especially not English convicts of the late 1700s. (Except those who'd been convicted of stealing lace at eight years old. Old England's laws had been a bit funny around then.) At any rate, Australia's founding population had been tough (apart from the eight-year-olds), practical (especially the prostitutes), and used to discomfort if not to the idea of working for a living (except for the prostitutes).  
  
So pain had never been a big thing for him. Even when he was a toddling colony a bare few decades old, stepping on a thorn as long as his thumbnail had never garnered anything more than an "ouch".  
  
And then, there was the wildlife.  
  
Cone shells. Taipans. The taipans' lovely less-venomous land-dwelling relatives. Sea snakes. Esturine crocodiles. Too many damn poisonous spiders and other invertebrates to count. And not to forget the Platypus, which might look fluffy, but had poison spurs that would make you wish you were dead.  
  
Oh, and the jellyfish. If Irukandji Syndrome proved one thing, it was that Mother Nature was a spiteful bitch. What was the _point_ of it?  
  
By the time deportation ended, Australia had been bitten, stung, scratched, and generally mauled by his wildlife so often that it took a bullet ant sting to even make him swear. When the First World War rolled around, he looked fifteen and had a pain tolerance that barely registered napalm. By the Second, jellyfish, snakes, and monotremes had completely desensitized him.  
  
He could feel everything else (thank goodness). But pain was a no-show. Not that the topic ever came up; with no wars to blast him open, decent health and safety standards, and both of them making an effort to keep the venomous fauna out of the house, Turkey had never _seen_ his reaction to pain.  
  
Which led to his current dilemma.  
  
Australia _liked_ sleeping with Turkey. (See: Last night's buggering.) He liked Turkey, full stop. And Turkey's idea did sound like fun, not to mention the way his lover had _grinned_ when he said yes, looking like the cat that got the canary.  
  
Turkey would probably have grinned a little less if he'd known that Australia wouldn't feel half of what he was going to do to him.  
  
Australia was not a nation given to insecurity. If he _had_ explained to Turkey, his lover would have been disappointed, but fine with it, and they could have come up with something else (since the mood would have been thoroughly dead by then, something Australia hadn't been too keen on with Turkey's thigh where it was). But he did like the idea. It sounded like fun. _So,_ all he had to do was play along, _acting_ like he was in pain.  
  
Piece of cake. Except that Australia's acting skills, excellent when it came to stealing cakes and looking innocent, were weak in the area of the bedroom.  
  
And he had seven days before Turkey was going to tie him up and beat the stuffing out of him.  
  
Australia sighed, swung his legs off the bed, and rummaged for the phone book. This was going to take some assistence.  
  
*  
  
"Let me get this straight," New Zealand said flatly. "You want me to tell you how normal people react to being flogged. Because you can't feel pain. Because _every animal in your house hates you_."  
  
"Pretty much, yeah," Australia said offhandedly.   
  
"And you couldn't just _tell him this?_ "  
  
"Well, I _could_ , but that'd mean we don't get to try it." Australia leaned both hands on the counter. "Come on, Zea!"  
  
New Zealand's eyebrow started twitching. " _No._ Ask somebody else."  
  
*  
  
"Ah," Canada said, blinking over his coffee mug. "Um. Er..." He saw Australia's fingers start wandering, and tried changing tactics. "Er ... why _me_?"  
  
"Well, I asked 'Zea first," Australia said, his hand wandering over the desk. "Because, you know ... and besides, with all those films, she's gotta be pretty good at acting, right?" He looked embarrased. "She said no. But you're Commonwealth too, right? It's easier than asking _strangers_ ... and anyway, you were settled by France, I figured you've got to have picked something up there."  
  
"Um." Canada tried very hard not to think of France in conjunction with Australia and Turkey and ... what Australia had asked him for assistance with. No! Bad images! Little brother! _Bad pictures!_  
  
"I think you'd better ask someone outside the family," he managed, and despite Australia's visible disappointment, he finally agreed.  
  
*  
  
France's face lit up. "But of course!" he crooned. "I am always willing to assist in matters of the bedroom. And of love, of course."  
  
His hand slid up Australia's arm. "Now, the first thing is to --"  
  
"On second thought, I'll ask someone else," Australia said, backing towards the door.  
  
*  
  
China was a washout. An _angry_ washout.  
  
Australia thought briefly about asking Japan. Then he shuddered.  
  
No, he thought firmly. _Definitely_ no.  
  
*  
  
India started out looking quite promising.  
  
"Part of the problem," he said, sitting cross-legged, facing Australia over cups of tea, "is that you will need to respond appropriately. If you flinch and swear at every stroke, no matter the strength, it will seem false. And you must be consistent in your response to pain."  
  
"I _am_ consistent," Australia said, glowering moodily into his tea. "I don't do anything."  
  
India sighed. "I mean that you must act as though your thresholds are stable -- so that you make a coherent story. You must decide what tolerances you wish to have _before_ \-- and stick to them. Do not start by flinching from the lighter blows and end by ignoring them, or he will notice."  
  
"Uh." Australia studied the elaborate cushions the two of them were sitting on. What was wrong with decent chairs? Sitting like this was making his ankles hurt. "So you're saying I need to start out pretending how much I can take, and keep it like that the whole way through? Makes sense."  
  
"Not the whole way through," India corrected him. "The body becomes sensitive -- you would feel the later blows more strongly than the early ones, if they fell on the same flesh."  
  
"But how do I know what's hard enough at all?" Australia persists. "I mean, I'm a tough bastard, he's not gonna believe it if I start yelping and he's not doing anything rougher than most people could take."  
  
"Oh, I'm well aware of your ancestry," India mutters, at a volume Australia probably isn't meant to hear.  
  
It all kind of goes downhill from there.  
  
*  
Well, this was it. It was seven in the morning, Australia was splattered with mud, he hadn't eaten since lunch the day before, and he had no idea what he was going to do if this one panned out. He straightened his shoulders, and knocked on the door.  
  
"Hold on, I'm coming!" a voice called from inside the house.  
  
A moment later, Hungary opened the door. She looked slightly surprised to see him there. "Australia? What are you doing here?"  
  
"I promised my boyfriend I'd let him tie me up and beat me in a week, but I've been bitten by so many poisonous animals that I don't feel pain any more, only he doesn't know that, so I need acting lessons," Australia said immediately.  
  
Hungary blinked and leaned against the doorjamb. "I see. And you came to me because?"  
  
"Er..." Australia cast about for a better way of saying it, and finally came out with, "Porn mecca."  
  
Hungary's lip twitched.   
  
"So I figured maybe you'd know something about acting," Australia added.  
  
"I can't say I've ever needed to..." Hungary's lip-twitch turned into a full-on grin. "A _week_?"  
  
"Well, five days now," Australia admitted.  
  
Hungary chuckled and shook her head. "Come on in," she said. "We've got a lot of work to do."  
  
*  
  
Somehow, she ended up roping Lithuania into it.  
  
Metaphorically, not literally.  
  
"Movement helps," the Baltic nation explained, sitting at Hungary's kitchen table. "If you keep moving just a little, all the time, then that helps hide the fact that you're not moving with any given stroke. And don't just move away -- move _into_ the pain sometimes."  
  
"Like if a dog grabs you," Australia mused. "Okay. What else?"  
  
"Your breathing. Don't let it get too even or --" Lithuania's eyes flickered to something behind him. He heard Hungary stumble, and hot liquid splashed his shoulder and arm.  
  
Australia twisted like a snake, and grabbed the teacup out of the air. Hungary steadied the teapot on the tray. Australia shrugged and put the teacup on the table, and then realised that both of them were looking at him oddly.  
  
"You really don't feel it, do you?" Lithuania said quietly.  
  
"Well, it's hot, but..." Australia shrugged. "No. Not really. See why I need lessons?"  
  
*  
  
Hungary had a very nice sofa, and was willing to let him sleep on it, but by the end of the week, Australia was glad that the acting lessons were over. He had a hard time sleeping when he couldn't sprawl out.  
  
Additionally, the acting lessons being over meant that the event he'd been preparing _for_ was right around the corner.  
  
Turkey met him at the airport, a tall, solid, imposing figure in a silver mask that Australia instantly picked out of the crowd. He yelled and waved, and Turkey shouldered his way through the crowd to meet him. They crashed into each other like a couple of charging bulls, and Turkey instantly hauled him into an embrace with the strength of a buck kangaroo. Australia laughed and kissed him eagerly. "Happy Anniversary," he breathed into Turkey's mouth.  
  
*  
  
They'd barely made it through the door when Australia yanked Turkey into another kiss, hot and wet and eager. Turkey growled and slammed him back into the wall before pressing against him, his hands sliding down Australia's arms, their hips grinding together. Turkey's thumb rubbed into the sensitive spot inside Australia's wrist, and Australia groaned into the kiss before nipping sharply at Turkey's lip. Turkey just chuckled and ground him into the wall again.  
  
He wasn't going to take that lying down -- er, metaphorically lying down, because he was very firmly vertical at this point, and hot _damn_ did Turkey's warm breath feel good on his throat when he laughed like that -- Australia hooked one leg around Turkey's knee and tugged sharply. Turkey stumbled even closer into him, pressing their bodies together from shoulders to knees, and then laughed into his open mouth. "Eager, are we?" he murmured, rubbing Australia's wrist again.  
  
"You know it," Australia panted. Turkey's thigh pressed between his legs, and Australia bucked up and shuddered against it. Turkey bit the edge of his jaw, and he might not be able to feel pain, but the sensation of his lover's teeth against his skin was -- okay, maybe they could just go at it here and sod the bedroom, he liked this hallway just _fine..._  
  
"Weren'tcha," he gasped out as his hips jerked against Turkey's thigh, "gonna show me something new?"  
  
"Mm --" Turkey kissed him again, their teeth clashing together, his tongue licking hungrily into Australia's mouth -- then he drew back with a smile, his body leaning away, and Australia groaned in disappointment. "So I was."  
  
He stepped away. The sodding bastard _stepped away_ with an evil smirk, taking all that delicious warmth with him, and headed for the bedroom. Australia growled and went after him.  
  
Turkey must have been burning something, because the bedroom was filled with a spicy, smoky smell. Still, despite the way his underwear was rubbing against his dick, he did take a moment to _look_ at the bed. Turkey was sitting on it (a definite plus), but Australia’s attention was reserved for the neat coil of rope and the riding crop set out on the bedside table. (Hungary had to be psychic. They’d _practiced_ with one of those!) He felt his heartbeat pick up with anticipation just from looking at it. (Definitely anticipation. Not nervousness. One did not survive England’s cooking by being a nervous actor.)  
  
Riding crop and rope. Because his lover was going to tie him to the bed (hey, look, clean sheets, how nice) and hit him, and suddenly this seemed so much more erotic now that they were actually about to do it.  
  
He gave Turkey a grin. “So, what now?”  
  
Turkey rolled his eyes. “You could start by being more naked. Or…” Australia looked down to open the buttons, which meant taking his eyes off Turkey. There was a jangle of springs, a booted thump, and Turkey’s hands wrapped around his wrists. “Second thoughts,” Turkey murmured. He seized Australia’s lapels and _ripped._  
  
It was probably too late to start wondering if the marks on his back from the ‘practice session’ had faded.  
  
Australia blinked at the remnants of his shirt in Turkey’s hands, and would have returned the favour if Turkey hadn’t somehow been wearing a jacket in the middle of _summer_. Instead, he got his belt and jeans open in record time, and then had to stop to take off his boots, because of-bloody- _course_ neither of them had bothered to take their boots off at the door. He kicked them off, not caring where they landed, and dropped onto the bed while Turkey dropped his jacket on top of his own boots.  
  
The bed dipped next to him under his lover’s weight, and then Turkey grabbed Australia’s shoulder with that sudden swiftness he rarely used and pushed, and Australia felt Turkey’s chest press against his back and Turkey’s body weight bore him down into the mattress. Australia went eagerly. Turkey was _heavy,_ big and solid with muscle, and after a year of being in this bed with his lover on top of him the weight went straight to Australia’s cock. He jerked his hips against the mattress, already impatient.  
  
Turkey chuckled in his ear, murmured something in his own language that went straight down Australia’s spine, and sat up, leaving one hand between Australia’s shoulder blades. There was the sound of hemp on wood, and that solid weight was back on top of him. “Grab the bedposts.”  
  
Australia grabbed. Turkey shifted his weight to kneel over him, and began to wind the rope around Australia’s right wrist.  
  
It felt…  
  
Okay, maybe pain wasn’t an option for him, but _this_ was going to make the evening pretty decent even if it didn’t end with Turkey’s cock up his ass. The rope wasn’t rough, but it rubbed over the outside of Australia’s wrist while the wood varnish was smooth against the heel of his palm. Turkey must have noticed his quiet gasp, because he threaded the next loop between his wrist and the post instead of just wrapping it around and _mmh_ , the texture, the _pressure_ … Australia’s fingers didn’t want to hold onto the post any more, and they probably didn’t need to.  
  
Turkey tied the rope off and started on his other wrist. Australia tried tugging on the first one, just to test it, and found his hand held firmly against the post, immobile. He tugged again and ground his hips into the bed.  
  
The second rope was tied off, and without being asked Australia dug in his knees for leverage and pulled as hard as he could manage. His hands didn’t budge. He waited for Turkey to climb off him and tried again. Same results.  
  
“Can you breathe all right?”  
  
“Yeah. Why?”  
  
Turkey snorted. “Suffocating ain’t part of the plan, kid.” His fingers ran down Australia’s spine. “Ready?”  
  
Australia flexed his fingers. “Ready.”  
  
The crop hissed through the air and smacked against his back, under the shoulder blade. Not too hard – Hungary’d hit him harder than that, though she’d been doing it through his shirt – but he let his shoulder twitch up anyway. The second blow hit in the same place on the other side, slightly harder but still nowhere near what they’d decided was a realistic pain threshold for him. He turned his head to the side and aimed a challenging smirk at the bits of Turkey he could see.  
  
“Thought you said you were going to show me what _pain_ feels like?”  
  
There was a growl from behind him, and the next blow came down _much_ harder. Australia remembered to swear and jerk away from it. The ropes were handy there – he couldn’t move much _anyway_ , in this position, so he didn’t have to worry about overdoing the movement. Again, and he twitched his shoulders up and yelped the way Lithuania had taught him, and which he vaguely remembered doing when he was younger and got stung by a bluey.  
  
 _Crack!_ And if Australia had been able to feel pain at all, that one _would_ have done it – Turkey was stronger than Hungary, and he wasn’t trying not to leave marks. The leather bit in deep, and Australia flinched as hard as he could and snarled into the pillow.  
  
Apparently that was a pretty convincing reaction, because Turkey laughed softly behind him and didn’t stop.  
  
Turkey left a series of welts up both sides of his back, over the long pads of muscle under his shoulder blades. Australia bucked and swore and managed to make his voice crack a bit when an especially hard blow landed on an older welt. Both of them were breathing harder, Australia from the rub of the rope around his wrists and the thick, smoky smell in the air, and he could hear Turkey’s breath rasping above him as the crop came down again and again. He couldn’t feel pain, but he could feel Turkey’s cock pressing against him when the other nation shifted his weight, and he could feel the roughness of his lover’s fingers when Turkey set the crop aside and ran a hand roughly down his back, stroking the marks possessively. Australia shivered and arched up into the touch, he couldn’t feel pain but the marks there were sensitive and the stroking felt so _good._  
  
Turkey said something in his own language again, his voice low and roughened with lust, and ran his fingers down the back of Australia’s neck, the gesture too rough to be called a caress but too intimate to be anything else.   
  
Australia had had enough.  
  
“If you don’t – bloody –” he panted, “get something in me in the next ten seconds I’m gonna feed you to an _emu_ , you – _nngh_!”  
  
Rough. The drag of Turkey’s finger inside him was rougher than usual, and through the white-hot flares going off in his brain Australia realised that Turkey had shoved it in _dry_.  
  
“Better?” Turkey purred in his ear, his finger already curling inside Australia’s body with the ease of familiarity.  
  
It _was_ \-- everything felt more intense like this, the little movements magnified, and if he hadn’t been subjected to snakes and spiders and jellyfish for centuries he probably would’ve wanted it out, but as it was it just made him arch more.  
  
“More,” he managed, because as interesting as the finger was it wasn’t Turkey’s cock. Turkey bit the back of his neck, and the two fingers that shoved back into him were slick with lube.  
  
He didn’t bother with going to three fingers.  
  
That felt good, too.   
  
There was so much _pressure_ as Turkey’s cock slid into him, opening him up, spreading him wide – Australia shuddered and cursed and clenched around him, digging his fingers into the bedposts, his hips moving in little shuddering jerks as he tried to get Turkey deeper. Turkey growled in his ear and bit him again, and then he pulled back and slapped his open hand across the welts. Australia bucked again, made a garbled noise into the pillow, _remember to breathe you idiot…_  
  
He twisted his hands in the ropes while Turkey pounded into him, rough and close and _good_ , calloused thumbs digging into the marks on his back, and every other thrust hitting that place that made Australia’s mind crackle and waver. He couldn’t stop making noise, words that were supposed to be swearing but came out an incoherent jumble, the roughness of the rope and Turkey’s voice in his ear and sparks from his back and he was so full and so close and then his mind blew apart.  
  
He came back to Turkey reaching over his head to untie the knots. His lover’s fingers fumbled over the rope, and Australia could feel the fine tremors in Turkey’s muscles where they lay pressed, front to back. A minute later, the ropes went slack and Australia pulled his hands back.  
  
He wriggled onto his side when Turkey sat up to pull the blanket up. The sheets were sweaty, but they were both used to that. The blanket was pulled up, and Turkey draped his arm over Australia’s side, heavy and possessive. The light through the window had gone dim, and the sounds of the city were quieter. Australia was content to just lie here and doze.  
  
“We should do this again some time,” Turkey murmured into the back of his neck.  
  
“Yeah,” Australia agreed sleepily into the pillow.  
  
Definitely worth the acting lessons.

**Author's Note:**

> The bullet ant has the most painful sting in the world; Irukandji Syndrome is second worst. It is characterised by dozens of hours of pain bad enough to make you scream while unconscious from morphine, and a feeling of impending doom. The pain is presumably to stun the jellyfish's prey; there is as yet no scientific theory for the feeling of impending doom.
> 
> A bluey is a Portuguese Man o' War.
> 
> While there are records of children as young as eight being sentenced to death for stealing lace, the youngest person in the first deportation to Australia was a boy of nine, and presumably the family of a crew member. There was a man on board who was deported for stealing a book on Tobago, though, and several people were there for stealing lace. (There's a good reason England doesn't have the death penalty; he's not very responsible with it.)


End file.
